The Ouija Board
by xxMusicalMime
Summary: "You can't be serious," Arthur, pale-faced, muttered. Even in the dark, he could clearly see the Ouija board and the heart-shaped planchette inside Alfred's hands. First Hetalia fic, so please R&R! USUK
1. The Gift

**A/N: ** _Dear fans who have been eagerly awaiting for updates for my other stories,_

_Please let me indulge in one of my yaoi fantasies. I'm doomed to impersonate a mathematician and won't have free time until at least after July 30. _

_I will, however, post this first chapter so the plot wouldn't slip from my mind._

_Enjoy ;D_

_**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA, PRINGLES, DORITOS, COKE, MARVEL, OR DC COMICS.**  
_

_**I WISH I OWNED ALFRED F. JONES, ARTHUR KIRKLAND, AND GILBERT BEILSCHMIDT THOUGH #runcry  
**_

* * *

"See ya, Kiku!" Alfred F. Jones yelled, waving energetically at the Japanese man, who was walking away, also waving. The American closed the door to his house and looked around sadly, a hand mussing up his blond hair.

The house seemed a lot quieter without Kiku around, and that didn't even make any sense, since Kiku would only talk when being addressed to directly. Alfred resigned himself to watch TV, plopping down the sagging sofa, one hand cradling a can of Coke while the other fished for Doritos and Pringles.

After fifteen minutes of flicking through the same channels 34 times, he sighed in frustration. "I'm bored!" he announced to the empty household, throwing a pillow at the stack of Marvel and DC comics.

_Thud._

Alfred's ears perked up. As far as he could remember, he bought NO comic book that sounded so… _wooden._

He blinked, his sky-blue eyes full of inquisition as he crouched down to the messed up pile of comics, searching for whatever made that alien noise.

"What the…"

Alfred held up a neatly wrapped present, the wrapping paper shining in the light. It was blue-and-red checkered, and on top was a yellow ribbon. There was a sticky note on top, which the American read eagerly.

"_Dear Alfred,_

_I thought you'd be bored for the first fifteen minutes I'm gone, so I left a little something for you. It's a Ouija board. Have fun! (But not too much.)_

_-Kiku_

_P.S. Invite someone over. You'll need it."_

"That's not even remotely scary at all, Kiku," he muttered sarcastically under his breath. Alfred sighed, shrugged, and peeled the paper off, smiling. Well, at least he had something to do now.

A wooden board fell to his lap. It was painted a dark violet, and intricate symbols were etched on it and painted with white. There was a sun on the upper left of the board, a moon on the upper right, a big "Yes" and "No" below the sun and moon, the whole alphabet and the letters 1-9. Below the numbers were the two words "Good bye". There was also a heart-shaped wooden piece with a hole in the middle. Alfred searched around for the term Kiku told him about it, and finally settled for "planchette".

The American's excitement quickly faded. That's all?

"Well, I better invite someone," he whispered, reaching over to unplug the phone he was charging on the nearby outlet before making a call. "Christ knows, how boring it is to play a board game by yourself… It's like trying to cheat and outsmart yourself in Monopoly."

He sped through the contact list, muttering under his breath.

_**Ludwig Beilschmidt**_

"Like hell I'm inviting_ him _over," he muttered, shivering. He continued on.

_**Feliciano Vargas**_

"I can't cook pasta for him."

_**Yao Wang**_

"He'll build a Chinatown in my living room again." He grimaced as the recollection of the LAST time that happened.

_**Francis Bonnefoy**_

"Why do I even have frog's number, anyway?" Alfred shrieked.

_**Ivan Braginsky**_

"No. Just. No."

_**Matthew Williams**_

"…Matt has a phone?"

_**Arthur Kirkland**_

Alfred stared at the name in silence, then sighed as he pressed "Call".

* * *

"Hullo?" Arthur Kirkland answered, holding his phone to his ear gingerly. His other hand raised his cup of tea to his lips.

"IGGY! YOU GOTTA COME!" Arthur paled as he recognized the voice on the other end. He almost forgot to berate the person for his poor grammar. Almost.

"Alfred? What happened?" The brit suddenly stood up, his hands shaking. "Is it Ivan? Ludwig? Francis?"

"Iggy! IGGY! COME QUICK!" Alfred's voice rose higher, and Arthur cringed.

"Answer me, goddammit!"

There was no answer.

"Alfred? ALFRED!"

But too late. The only thing Arthur could hear was the sound of his cellphone signaling that the call had been disconnected. Cursing, he packed his things and flew out the door.

* * *

**A/N: **_I never intended it to be this dramatic *rolls her eyes* Really..._

_Well, tell me what you think? Please?  
_


	2. English Drama

**A/N: **_On a roll! \m/_

_Thanks for the reviews, guys! I was really not expecting this feedback, since this plot was kind of spur-of-the-moment X'D  
_

_So I'm writing chapter 6 as we speak *giggles* Yes, I'm a quick writer. But I'll try to wait until I garner enough reviews. For the meantime, enjoy~  
_

_**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA, NOR COKE OR ANYTHING AWESOME.**  
_

_**THAT IS WHY, ALFRED F. JONES, ARTHUR KIRKLAND, AND THE EVER AWESOME GILBERT BEILSCHMIDT ARE NOT HERE IN MY ARMS BEING GLOMPED TO DEATH.  
**_

_**YET.  
**_

* * *

"Great timing," Alfred muttered, throwing his dead phone on the sofa, useless.

The whole house had been plunged into darkness mere minutes before, and at that same time, his phone had used up what little battery life the charger had been able to give it. And so Alfred was there, staring down at the strange board and the planchette as heavy raindrops began to fall on the window.

He sighed again, stood up, put the things on the couch, and went to the fridge, hoping that there'd still be a cold can of Coke or root beer.

* * *

"Alfred? Alfred!"

Arthur ran to the American's home, his umbrella flying in the godforsaken wind. Blimey, where did this sudden storm come from?

He looked up and paled. The entire house was dark. It looked as if it was haunted. He pounded on the door, frantic. "Alfred F. Jones, do NOT scare the hell out of me! Now open this door at once!"

Silence. The brit panted, his fists stinging with the force. He realized that the door wasn't even locked. Cursing for his stupidity, he turned the knob and strode into the living room carefully.

"Alfred?" he called out into the house. The dark and lonely living room which had always been occupied by a certain American, his socked feet on top of the coffee table, looked deserted for years. The pile of comics on the corner of the room was the only thing out of place besides what Arthur recognized as a Ouija board, complete with a planchette.

"Blimey, no," he muttered, refusing to believe it.

The door to the kitchen creaked, and he whipped around, scared. His green eyes glinted. "W-who's there?" he asked, immediately hating that his voice was a fucking octave higher and was quivering like a loose guitar string.

The dark figure moved closer, and as lightning flashed outside, he saw something glint silver in the hands of his soon-to-be assaulter. And with that note, Arthur Kirkland turned and ran for his life.

But too late. The other figure had jumped and landed on Arthur's back. The brit closed his eyes and prayed for dear life as he looked up…

…and saw sky-blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, accompanied by a pearly white smile, which Arthur snarled up at.

* * *

"You came!" Alfred squealed excitedly, pulling the brit into a bear hug. "You came, you came, you came!"

"Alfred, you wanker!" Arthur shrieked, getting overwhelmed by the other's arms. "L-let go of me!"

Alfred just laughed and complied, grinning. "Yo, dude! I was, like, totally bored! I knew I had to call you!"

"Is that why you were screaming, 'Iggy! Iggy!' like some sort of petrified baby?" he asked, smirking as he got up the carpet. "Jeez! You were just bored, and you couldn't just wait calmly?"

"Boredom can kill you, ya know!" The American huffed, crossing his arms and sipping the can of Coke he held. "And here I am, cooking tea for you!"

"First, it's 'you' and not 'ya'," the brit said, his mouth twitching. "Second, you can't 'cook' tea. It's 'prepared'. And third, I do NOT want this heated substance!" He threw the cup of tea Alfred offered away.

"What was that for?"

"I'll bloody tell you what that was for! You just boiled a pack of iced tea mix in a kettle for half an hour!"

"That's… scarily accurate," he muttered, looking at Arthur in a new light. "But, well, shit, I almost forgot! Let's play!"

"You can't be serious," Arthur, pale-faced, muttered. Even in the dark, he could clearly see the Ouija board and the heart-shaped planchette inside Alfred's hands.

* * *

**A/N: **_Love? Hate? So-so? Tell me, please? *makes puppy dog eyes*_

_**PREVIEW TO THE NEXT CHAPTER:**__Arthur and Alfred debate about whether this Ouija Board is a hoax or real. When Alfred insists it's real and nothing happens, Arthur calls for help for a trusty friend to lighten the American up.__  
_


	3. Flying Mint Bunny

**A/N: _Thanks for all the feedback, guys! Here's chapter 3 :] Hope you like the story so far! And I tried to lengthen the chapter to at least 1000 words from now on :3_**

**_DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA, HARRY POTTER, OUIJA BOARDS, SNAKE AND LADDERS, OR THE TERM 'MAN-OVER'.  
_**

**_SADLY, I AM NOT THE RIGHTFUL OWNER OF ALFRED F. JONES, ARTHUR KIRKLAND, AND GILBERT BEILSCHMIDT.  
_**

**_YET.  
_**

* * *

"It's real!"

"Not!"

"Real!"

"Not!"

"Real!"

"I told you, it's not bloody real!"

Arthur and Alfred had a stare-off, their knees touching as they sat cross-legged on the floor, facing each other. Alfred was as stubborn as a mule, as always. He never even imagined that Kiku would prank him into doing something that would scare him shitless. Arthur, suspicious of anyone, had never fallen for anyone's tricks, and therefore was aware of how Ouija boards were like Snake and Ladders to other countries.

"I'll prove to you that it doesn't exist! That this board is just a bloody hoax!" Arthur said finally, crossing his arms and smirking.

"And I'll prove to you that it does work," Alfred snapped, placing a finger on the planchette. "Now you do the same."

"Fine." And the brit did so, placing a digit on the planchette confidently. "Do you want to start?"

"Uh…" The American turned a bright red as he averted his gaze. Arthur's emerald eyes widened in realization, and then narrowed in amusement. His lips quirked upward in a smirk.

"You don't even know how," Arthur finally teased.

"Just shut up!" Alfred scowled, his face getting redder. "_You _start it then, if you're so good at this mumbo-jumbo wack."

Arthur pursed his lips and started chanting. "If there are any spirits here, please introduce yourselves."

Seconds, and even minutes, passed, but nothing happened. The brit was about to sing "I told you so~" but the look on the American's face – one that held so much betrayal, disappointment, and hurt – was too much for him.

"O-oh, don't worry," Arthur suddenly said, panicking. "T-they'll be here."

"Why are you patronizing me, Iggy?" The American muttered, those usually joyful blue eyes staring down blankly. "You won. Right? Do you want me to outright admit defeat? Are you still not satisfied, then? What else? What more do you want?"

"N-no! It's not like that!" He shook his head, panicking, but Alfred just stayed silent. He prayed to whoever was there up above. _Help me out. Good Lord, help me out. A depressed Alfred F. Jones is unbecoming. Not to mention an Alfred F. Jones quickly admitting defeat! Please, Lord. I know I'm Protestant, but…_

Wings fluttered, and Arthur's ears perked up. He looked around and saw a familiar face winking back at him. He sent a silent plea to flying mint bunny, glancing at the Ouija board and at the depressed Alfred. His friend nodded and concluded to move the planchette around the board then back to the middle, signaling that, indeed, there was someone or something trying to communicate with them.

Alfred's eyes widened in surprise as his and Arthur's fingers moved with the planchette. "Is… is that…?"

"I guess it is," The Englishman said, smiling, and Alfred's face lit up. Even his cowlick, which had drooped sadly, bounced back up, defying gravity as usual. "Want me to ask it a question?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah!" Alfred bounced on his rear, just like a five-year-old. Excited. Curious. Gullible.

"All right." Arthur nodded. "What is your name, spirit?"

Flying mint bunny moved the planchette again, spelling out a name.

F-

Ever so slowly, Arthur shook his head. "Think of another," he mouthed, thankful that Alfred was too distracted with this new breakthrough.

Flying mint bunny nodded and changed course, completing a name.

-R-E-D.

"'Fred'?" Alfred asked, astounded. 'Fred', a.k.a. flying mint bunny, moved the planchette to "Yes".

The American, flushed with his success, asked question after question, getting random answers.

"How old are you?"

1-9

"How did you die?"

P-R-O-T-E-C-T

"Protected who?"

B-R-O-T-H-E-R

At this, Alfred paled, and, after a minute, his face darkened. "So much bravery you have there, Fred."

Flying mint bunny went to "Yes" a little slowly, as though 'Fred' was sad. Arthur just observed the American, who had become into this paranormal stuff even if it was inexistent. Also the sudden mention of 'brother' had obviously shook him.

"Is there anyone else with you?" Alfred asked.

Again, the planchette got dragged to "Yes".

"Who?"

G-E-O-R-G-E

"Who's that?"

B-R-O-T-H-E-R

"I think we should stop now," he whispered, not to Alfred, but to the flying mint bunny. He glanced a meaningful look at the American, who was now shaking like a leaf. His little friend nodded and dragged the planchette to "Good bye" before letting go of their fingers and flying away.

Arthur let Alfred calm down, but the American was adamant. He suddenly flung his arms around the brit, taking the latter by surprise.

"Bloody hell - !"

"Iggy…" Alfred sniffed, curling up in a ball on Arthur's lap. "I… I'm sorry…"

"What?" he asked, awkwardly cradling the other. He was far too big for his small lap. "Uhm… w-why are you apologizing?"

"I…" Apologetic cerulean eyes met inquisitive emerald ones as the American looked up. "I'm scared shitless."

Arthur sighed, scratching his head and mussing up his hair. His cheeks went a pale pink. "Y-yes, I can see that… but why? Fred and George never intended harm…" He smirked internally as Alfred didn't recognize the twins' names from Harry Potter. _So that's why my Deathly Hallows copy had a dog-ear on "The Prince's Tale", _he thought.

"N-no, but…" Alfred took a shaky breath to steady himself. Arthur stroked his back and blushed even more. "J-just sleep with me. Like old times. Please?"

Those puppy-dog orbs were all Arthur needed to break down with a begrudging "Fine".

"All right!" Alfred cried triumphantly. "This'll be the best man-over ever!"

"'Man-over'?" Arthur quoted, but the American paid no heed and was already stomping upstairs to his room. "That's not even a word!"

Alfred ignored him. "Sorry, man, but we gotta sleep together," he stated, flinging his room open to reveal a single bed.

Arthur blinked, his glance going from Alfred, then to the bed. A scowl worked its way on his face as he faced the American's innocent and so very oblivious smile.

"We have to WHAT?"

* * *

**A/N:_ cliffhanger?/shot._**

_PREVIEW TO CHAPTER 4!_

_Arthur agrees reluctantly to Alfred's "man-over". But he couldn't think with the American breathing on his neck.  
_

_Meanwhile, Alfred is amused to see Arthur's boxers and a tattoo on the brit's shoulderblades.  
_

_[contains lime]  
_


	4. Goodbye, Alfred F Jones

**A/N: Erm... sorry for the late update. #shot**

* * *

"Gah – what are you – ooooooy!"

Alfred pinned Arthur to the floor, sniggering. "Where's your bedwear?"

"It's pyjamas, not bedwear, you twit!" the brit corrected angrily, a blush creeping on his cheeks as his arms were restrained over his head. He tried squirming, but lamentably the American was much heavier than him. "Let me go! OOOOY!"

"Change, dude!" The American laughed, suddenly hoisting up Arthur's shirt over his head and flinging it aside.

"I don't have pyjamas!"

"Then sleep in your boxers!"

Arthur scoffed. "That's absurd!"

"'Absurd, absurd' my ass," Alfred mocked, sneering as he undid Arthur's pants. He pulled them down, much to Arthur's indignation. At the sight of the flag of the United Kingdom printed all over dark blue boxers, the American smirked. "Now that's more like it!"

"GET OFF!"

Alfred was roughly pushed off by an angry Brit, who scoffed and stomped grumpily towards the bed, falling on it with a loud _flump._ He didn't even bother to hike his pants up, and he shivered as the cold air blew on his bare skin.

The American sighed and scratched his head. Now Arthur was mad, he could tell. He looked up at the Englishman's back and saw something. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a moment, then widened in realization. He crawled closer and closer until he was breathing on Arthur's neck.

"What the fuck… ALFRED?! – "

"YOU HAVE A FUCKING TATTOO!" Alfred screamed, all precaution discarded as he poked the back of Arthur's right shoulder, where a permanent design was imprinted. The American peered closer to make out that the tattoo was something similar to a Dean Razorback Cemetery Gates electric guitar in design, only the design of the guitar's body was that of the Union Jack Flag. Awed, he sniffed and asked, "Since when?"

"I…" Arthur gulped and blushed. Alfred was close to him. Too close for his liking. Maybe. He scooted away from him to get back some personal space before answering. "I've had it… since a while."

"Since a while?!" The American shrieked. "Dude! That is so uncool!"

"W-what? If you can't appreciate my sense of style – "

"No, dude, this is awesome! But… why didn't you tell me?"

Arthur blinked, confused. "W-what…?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to get a tattoo?" Alfred asked, disappointment coating his voice as he looked away. "Dude… We're bros… right?"

The brit looked away again with a sigh. "I figured that you wouldn't care at all if I got a tattoo or not, if I passed France's standard of cooking or not, if I bloody _died _or not – "

"Of course I would!" The other looked up at the ceiling, his blue eyes misty. "I… of course I would care…"

"A…Alfred…?"

"RAAAAAAAH!" Alfred suddenly jumped on Arthur, making them fall back on the bed with a loud creak from the springs. They wrestled at one another, tangling themselves with the blankets and punching pillows to the floor. They grabbed at their arms, their ankles, their hair, and grunted as they overcame and were overcome by the other.

At long last, they finally ended the little fight, and both lay exhausted at either side of the bed, panting. Arthur massaged his left torso on the place where the American kicked him, and Alfred nursed the cheek the brit had punched with all his might. Once they had caught their breaths, Arthur was the first to speak.

"What the bloody hell was THAT for, you git?!" He shrieked. When Alfred didn't answer, the brit groaned and laid on his side so that his back was turned towards the American. "I don't care anymore. Good night."

When it was evident that Alfred wasn't going to be forgiven that night, the American sighed and lied down beside the brit, wondering if Arthur could somehow feel his heart beating fast from how it rebelled between his ribcage and the mattress.

Little did he know that a certain emerald-eyed brit was thinking exactly the same thoughts.

* * *

Alfred couldn't take any more of this.

He winced as another snore ripped through the air, with another kick on his back exactly one minute later. Arthur was not making him sleep, and he was treating him like a goddamned horse.

"C'mon, Alfred…" the sleeping Brit muttered, a derpy smile on his face. "Quick… rainbow… leprechauns… gold… Gryffindor…."

"Oh, for crying out loud, this is the worst man-over ever!" the American huffed, exasperated, but no one had reacted. The brit still slept away, and one final kick made Alfred tumble to the floor in a heap, dragging about half the sheets with him.

"I GIVE UP!" He shouted, standing up and stomping downstairs. He threw the pillow against the wall and tromped his way down to the living room, where he wanted to cool down with a midnight snack.

He groped around, cursing his stupidity of actually leaving his glasses by the bedside table. Now all the world was dark AND blurry as fuck. Grumbling, he finally sat down with a perspiring can of Coke on the sinking sofa.

"Didn't even drink or anything," he grumbled, taking a long sip as the drink shocked his throat into awareness. He sputtered and coughed as some Coke went in the wrong way, and then gasped for air as he tried to recover. He slumped back but something hard poked his back, making him curse and pull it out. Squinting, he adjusted his eyes and looked at it.

"Fucking planchette," he muttered, grimacing. And then he grinned as he got an idea. He sat down on the floor, found the Ouija board, and started another conversation.

"Hi, spirit dude!" Alfred said jovially, taking another sip from the can. "What's your name?"

The planchette moved rapidly across the board, spelling a sentence, not a name.

_Why don't you fuck off?_

Alfred's eyes widened and his temper rose. "Well, I did not ruin a man-over just to talk to the Grinch. Put Fred up, will ya?"

_No. Fred's not here._

"Then who the fuck are you?!"

_My name is Ryan. Fred's brother._

Alfred blinked, amazed. "You must be really thankful for your brother saving your life."

He sensed the spirit grow even more angry as the speed of the planchette increased.

_Don't be a fool. Why would I be? Can't even remember my true name because he had been reading so many Harry Potter books, and calls me George. We're not even twins. I was seventeen, and he, eleven. Our father got home drunk with a hooker in his arms, thinking that they could have some alone time in the living room. They fucked each other's brains out as me, my brother, and my mom ate dinner. They weren't exactly quiet. I knew that the family's breaking up because of me, and so I thought of taking my life. Unfortunately, my stupid asshole of a brother took my chance and ended HIS life, instead, and so our family was broken beyond repair._

Alfred paused for a moment, full of guilt and remorse. He knew the feeling of getting their family ripped apart. "I'm so sorry, dude."

_Nevermind. I've come to collect your soul anyways._

Alfred's blood grew cold. "W-what?!"

_I'm afraid that's how it goes. My spirit has been unquenchable, really. I've even communicated to that Japanese visitor you had. But he had some banishment paper charms and I was dispelled from the board forcefully. I've come for you to seek revenge on him._

"N-no! Kiku wouldn't – he won't – "

_Too late._

And too late indeed. There was a fog growing heavily inside his living room. His line of sight diminished as the fog clouded up his eyes. He tried pulling his finger off the planchette, but it wouldn't budge. Finally, he got pulled in by a supernatural force, and it took all the strength he had not to barf as he screamed for help.

* * *

Arthur woke with a start, grumbling. He had been dreaming that Dumbledore was giving him a big box of Honeydukes chocolate, but then Dumbledore turned into a banshee and screamed.

In retrospect, the voice that screamed was real. And masculine. And… familiar…

"Alfred?" He called out nervously, suddenly cautious of the darkness. He walked to the door and opened it, cringing at the dark stairwell. "Alfred?!"

No answer. Heart hammering, he took the stairs, one at a time, and saw the Ouija board sitting innocently on the coffee table with a freshly opened can of Coke beside it.

Arthur paled. "No, no, no, no, no…"

He looked at it closely and his suspicions were agreed upon. On the Ouija board, the planchette sat on the words "Good bye", and, below that, were the words "Alfred F. Jones".


	5. A Friend In The Nexus

**A/N: Exams are coming. I'm sorry. But this is the best I could do. At least now I have the gist of the ending :3 ENJOY!~**

* * *

Arthur rummaged through his suitcase nervously, eyes blinking back furious tears and hands shaking. It was all he could do instead of crying and throwing the bloody Ouija board out. Cursing inwardly, hands clenched into fists, he allowed himself to emit a single scream of frustration that reverberated around the empty household.

"ALFRED, YOU IDIOT!" He yelled, letting one tear fall. After a stony silence, more tears rained down his cheeks. He was downright sobbing into his clothes in two minutes. What was he supposed to do? Was there any assurance Alfred would come back whole and safe?

Finally, he found what he was looking for – a small version of the Union Jack flag. Flailing, he dived for it and smiled weakly. It was his iPhone, still muted. It had 52 missed calls (all from a certain French Arthur maturely named "Bloody Frog" in his contacts). He had no other choice, however. He gulped down his pride and called Francis.

"_Oui?" _Francis sang as he picked up the other line. Arthur nearly choked when he heard a female moan from somewhere. "Ah, excuse me – Monique, could you tone it down, I am on the phone, mon cher – "

"FROG!" Arthur screamed, nearly hysterical. He nearly forgot to cry. "FOR GOD'S SAKE, AT LEAST TURN OFF YOUR VIDEOCHAT WHEN ANSWERING THE BLOODY PHONE!"

"Oh, it's you, Arthur~" Francis Bonnefoy trilled, giggling like a highschool girl. "This is the first time you've ever called me first! Does this mean we're getting serious?~"

"Oh for God's sake, Francis, please stop…" Arthur sobbed, forgetting to insult the French.

Francis stopped and sighed. "What's the matter, L'Angleterre?" He asked worriedly.

In just that question, Arthur's defensive walls broke down. He told everything that transpired to Francis, who just listened silently, occasionally asking questions and retellings when the brit's narration got reduced to tears and cursing gibberish. After about ten minutes, Francis had the gist of the situation, while Arthur had a bad case of hiccups.

"I'll phone some friends," Francis finally advised in a soothing tone. "Don't worry, L'Angleterre. Go drink something calming. Tea would be nice, _oui? _Go and call Peter, maybe he knows. I'll phone Romania and Norway. But I think Lukas can tell more."

"Thank you, Francis…" he muttered, sighing. At least he had something to do. If he didn't, he might have killed himself pacing.

"No problem, mon ami. I'll ring you up again in ten minutes. And please unmute your phone, your ringtone is quite sexy~"

"How did you know my ringtone?!" Arthur yelled, but Francis was laughing.

"Ohohohon~ There we go, little Arty's back! _Au revoir~"_ and with that the call ended.

Arthur sighed and fell back on the bed, exhausted. It was going to be a bad day. Trudging downstairs again, he picked up the Ouija board and headed to the kitchen then made himself a pick-me-up.

Oddly enough, Alfred had an assortment of tea – both instant and tea weed – in his cupboard. Arthur emitted a grunting noise and got a teabag of Earl Grey before returning to his chair. He prepared tea for himself, his iPhone lying next to the Ouija board. It must've been an hour or so, with him not touching his tea until it cooled, nor shift his legs even it had cramps. He felt like every cell in his body was disintegrating and rebuilding itself every minute. He had never waited so long in his entire life.

* * *

_Alfred._

_Come on, Al._

_There's a good chap._

_Come here. There we go. Nice and slow. _

Alfred squinted in the darkness, his arms outstretched before him. He had been walking for a half hour in a weird nexus he had ended up in. Fortunately his glasses didn't break from the impact when he landed face-first on the "ground", but the darkness was unsettling. His eyes never really adjusted, and it made Alfred feel small, weak, and vulnerable, like a blind pup. Until this voice had called to him and he thought that there must be an end to this. And so he followed it. Mainly because it had a familiar accent he'd recognize in any situation.

"Why don't you show me the way out, Arthur?" He called out for the first time. His throat was raw from screaming, and his voice gravelly. "Come on, man, if you want me to be like the little bro I was, then I'm sorry, I can't."

"Oh, Alfred, you're such a cutie," the voice said, giggling. Alfred winced. Arthur never giggled like that. Arthur never giggled at all – PERIOD. "I don't know this Arthur chap, but maybe I do, oh, but I don't! Ahahaha! Doesn't it make perfect sense?"

"Are you insane?" Alfred yelled, but the mysterious voice just laughed and ignored his question.

"Ten steps more, Alfred, there we go!" The disembodied voice said, getting fainter and fainter, as though the speaker were walking backwards, and away from him.

"W-wait! No! Come back!" Alfred screamed, panicking, and ran. He had exceeded ten steps and was still in darkness, and every fiber of his being was shouting and begging for light. His heart beating fast, he charged.

And in a second, everything was in color once more.

Alfred squeezed his eyes shut and shielded his face, blinded. After fervently blinking for several minutes, he had enough strength to pry two fingers apart.

He was in some sort of garden. Fog was almost everywhere but he could perfectly see things five feet away from him. He was standing in the middle of a tiled pathway in the ground, and everywhere there were tall bushes, shaped and trimmed into grotesque forms (e.g. a lascivious female body with heads of dogs, a huge foot with only three toes). Alfred internally shivered and started walking forward, trying not to look at the marble statues of decapitated angels with a suspicious-looking dark liquid running from their neck.

He heard music, eerily twirling about in the weird and scary atmosphere he was in. At times it was as peaceful as Roderich playing, and then it would be disrupted by an exaggerated note (as though Gilbert appeared and slammed his hand on Roderich's piano as he played), and then the soothing music will return once more as though nothing happened. He kept going forward, noticing how all the marble angels have more amounts of blood, fresher-looking than the past others. He tried to walk faster, and after five minutes, he ran. He ran as fast as he could until he was out of breath and his muscles screamed for mercy. Finally, he slumped on his knees, heaving.

"Boy, you're one of a kind," a voice trilled behind him, and Alfred yelped, jumping.

"Who the fuck are you?!" Alfred screamed, looking up at eyes even bluer than his. The stranger had red-orange hair, colorful clothes, and a Cheshire cat grin.

Three things were noticeable: One, a palette knife was in one of the stranger's hand. It looked like it was made to chisel something.

Two, the suspicious looking liquid from the marble angels were in the man's clothes.

And three, this stranger had Arthur Kirkland's eyebrows.

The stranger just smiled wider (if that was even possible) and offered Alfred a delicious-looking cupcake. "Hello, Alfie. Want a bite?"

* * *

**A/N: R&R OR 1P!ENGLAND WILL GIVE YOU HIS FAVORITE SCONE.**

**3/11/2013 6:04 AM - Thank you for all the reviews (I just put this up last night, 3 reviews already, wow :O) Thank you thank you! Such a good motivation for the exams!**

**Don't worry guys, this story will be MUCH MUCH MUCH LONGER (maybe it'll reach until my usual chapters (19-21) or even more!)**

**Stay tuned :3**


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